


A Matter Of Faith

by DGCatAniSiri



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-23
Updated: 2014-06-23
Packaged: 2018-02-05 20:38:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1831462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DGCatAniSiri/pseuds/DGCatAniSiri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Talks at the Hanged Man take a turn for the philosophical and controversial. Hawke has to wonder why he bothers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Matter Of Faith

The Hanged Man was the only place in Kirkwall anyone could get a decent drink. Unfortunately, ‘decent’ had very low standards in Kirkwall. Still, assuming you could get drunk enough, it wasn’t that bad of a place. Though everyone avoided the talkative man who was always rambling to himself. He creeped them out. And he smelled. 

Garrett Hawke led his friends into the Hanged Man, ordering a round of drinks for them all. Again, it wasn’t worth much, but his coin purse still had a few sovereigns from the loot he, Varric, Anders, and Carver had managed to salvage out of the Deep Roads, not to mention all the other spoils of adventuring he’d acquired. Hawke felt a slight pang of pain at the thought of Carver. Was it really that much to ask that he be allowed to stay in contact with his family? A regular letter is all he really wanted, something that could allay Mother’s fears for the safety of her youngest son. The bastards hadn’t even sent word about whether Carver had survived until weeks after, surely taking years off of Mother’s life in her concern and worry.

He pushed those thoughts aside – Carver was with the Wardens now, and he couldn’t do a thing about it. Instead, he just ordered a round of drinks for himself and his companions. 

Well, most of them. Sebastian politely abstained from the drinks, citing his vows as reasons for him not to drink. Hawke had to resist the urge to roll his eyes – he’d seen plenty of brothers from the Lothering Chantry down at the tavern. There were even several sisters, the occasional mother, and on one occasion, he’d sworn he seen the Revered Mother herself getting a drink there. Still, Garrett was trying to make nice with Sebastian. And it wasn’t exactly easy. 

It wasn’t as if Sebastian was a pain in the arse. Well, at the least, he didn’t preach and try to convert everyone around him. He hinted and danced around the subject, but never quite reached the point where he actually came right out and said that he wanted everyone to come to the Chantry during services. Not that Anders would set foot in a Chantry where he might have templars arrest him and take him to the Gallows, or even execute him on the spot, or that Isabela wouldn’t attempt to seduce every brother out of his robes while they preached (likely commenting on how much she enjoyed corrupting those pious souls or some such). And the sisters, for that matter. Or that Hawke could make it through a sermon without mouthing off.

Edwina brought out another round of drinks, giving Sebastian a disdainful look at his lack of an order. He missed it completely.

Aveline had made herself comfortable in a corner, arm wrestling some of the drunks. Isabela was ‘helping’ by heckling her in the process, attempting to break her concentration. All she seemed to be doing was making Aveline more determined to win. Varric was keeping an eye on Merrill as she examined the entirety of the Hanged Man. She would often get enthralled by the various tall tales being told by the regulars, and Hawke and Varric would have to gently explain to her the embellishments that were added and that if the man in the corner HAD torn off the horns of a qunari and fed them back to him, he would have to be in better shape, because other qunari would have certainly come after him to tear off HIS ‘horn’ and feed it back to him. 

Fenris glowered in the corner, seeming out of place in the midst of drunken revelry. And the fact that Anders was there wasn’t improving his mood any either. And with him glaring daggers at Anders, the apostate abomination, Anders didn’t seem to be enjoying himself that much either. Hawke wondered if one day those two would realize just how alike they really were. Though he certainly wasn’t about to be the one to put his neck on the line to bring that up with them. One would cut it off, the other would roast it to a crisp. 

Still, it was nice to get out once and a while as a group when there wasn’t another pack of giant spiders to kill (if Hawke had to see one more eight-legged monstrosity, he’d scream). A night of revelry was definitely needed, particularly with the qunari threat seemingly like a sword hanging over their heads. 

“...I’m just saying, you are rather manish. I’m curious, that’s all!” Isabela said with a grin as she continued her goading. 

Aveline was not amused at her, and channeled all of her irritation into defeating her opponent. She slammed his hand against the table hard enough that Hawke felt fairly confident that the man had broken a bone. “Are you looking for me to do that to you?” she asked with a glare. 

Isabela gave an angelic smile. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Captain.”Aveline gave her a look before returning to the table.

With a sigh, Hawke attempted to make himself more comfortable in the bare wooden chairs. The taverns up in Hightown might have cushioned seats, but it couldn’t match the atmosphere of the Hanged Man. Hawke just wished that they’d be willing to share the contracts on the furniture.

Still, for once, all seemed as calm as it got in Kirkwall, the noise the mages and templars and qunari made fading into a background buzz. Wasn’t that refreshing? 

As he shifted again, once more cursing the builders of the damn chair that he was sitting on, Sebastian approached him and sat beside him.

“I am surprised that you spend so much time in a place like this, Hawke,” he said. “Surely someone of your standing could find a better place for your revels than here.”

Hawke shook his head, both at the statement itself and the fact that no one in this bloody city seemed willing to use his name. “It’s not about the revels. It’s the atmosphere. Opportunity doesn’t find someone in the Hightown bars. It’s here where business deals get made and things... happen.” He knew that Sebastian had been sheltered by being the chantry’s ward for so long, but still, this was common sense in a town like Kirkwall.

The Chantry brother shook his head. “I suppose I’ll never get used to this life. I was on a path like it before I came to the service of the Maker, but the Grand Cleric stopped me from becoming like...” At that moment, the talkative man shuffled past their table, muttering to himself as always.

Hawke smirked and motioned to him. “Like that?”

Sebastian laughed. “Yes, quite possibly.” At this point, Aveline defeated the last challenger of the night. She approached the two and took a seat with them. Hawke mimed a salute to her with his drink, earning a nod in response. Sebastian pursed his lips and Hawke braced himself for problems. 

“Aveline, your husband was a templar, but you yourself... You don’t believe in the Maker?” _Oh here we go..._

Aveline scowled for a moment, but managed to keep her clear distaste for what Sebastian was unwittingly stirring up in check. “I’m not sure I’d say that I don’t believe in the Maker. I was raised with the Chant like everyone else in Ferelden. But I don’t believe that by the Maker not intervening it proves his existence. You can’t prove a positive through a negative.”

“But you believe Andraste died for man’s sins, don’t you?”

“I believe she lived, that she freed the elven slaves, fought the Imperium, and was put to the fire by man. Beyond that, I don’t know. None of us can.”

Sebastian looked at her as if she’d grown a second head. “But it’s written in the Chant!”

Hawke decided to jump in and try to defuse the issue. “The Chant was written by man. Man is fallible. Not to mention anyone writing a history who didn’t like how things turned out could make a few... creative edits.”

Varric, who, being Varric, couldn’t help but overhear the conversation, chuckled. “True enough. First rule of storytelling, Choir Boy: Make it a good one. Facts are secondary.”

By Sebastian’s face, the attempt at defusing seemed just to add fuel to the fire. _Why did I open my mouth?_ “So you doubt the chant?”

“I doubt the Chantry entirely.” The words were out of Hawke’s mouth before he could stop himself. He winced as he realized what that would spark and made a motion to Norah to get him a flagon of something stronger. _Maker knows I’ll need it..._

“You... doubt the Chantry?” Sebastian repeated, seemingly having trouble grasping the concept.

Hawke sighed, deciding to just get this over with. He noted that Aveline had inched away slightly, letting him deal with this. _Thanks for the support, Guard-Captain,_ he thought, sparing time for a quick glare at her. “I doubt any organization that proclaims one group of people as being lesser than another by virtue of birth.”

“You mean the Circle.” _Brilliant deduction, messair._ Bringing that up caught the attention of Fenris and Anders, who both subtly moved closer to the two of them to listen in.

The can of worms opened, Hawke could only fight his way through and try and make amends later on. “Yes, I mean the Circle. I understand the need for mages to learn about their abilities away from where an accident might hurt people. I don’t argue that. I also understand why the Circle is so zealous in doing what they can to prevent demons from possessing mages. But the Chant itself says ‘magic must serve man, not rule him.’ That doesn’t mean locking people away. And it doesn’t mean denying them a life away from that same place of learning. I think that mages shouldn’t be separated from their families or treated as objects of derision.” Would that that had been an option with himself and Bethany. Then, rather than having to escape Lothering with just the clothes on their backs and Bethany dying at the hands of that ogre, they might have been able to stay near Ferelden’s Circle Tower. ...And then promptly either be swept up in Uldred’s coup or be called upon to fight the darkspawn and repel the Blight. Maybe that wasn’t a good alternative either...

Hawke realized that his mind was wandering and focused it back on the conversation as Sebastian declared, “But magic may appear in any noble bloodline.”

Oh how Hawke loved that response. “Including the Amell line. If I weren’t an apostate, I’d have been in the Circle and Kirkwall would be facing the threat of the qunari without me.” And, given the Arishok’s growing respect for Hawke as a person, that would probably have spelled disaster for Kirkwall.

The exiled prince nodded slightly, conceding that point. “I grant that, but surely you of all people understand the dangers of mages who run loose. The Chantry simply wants to protect all peoples, including the mages.”

“No they don’t.” Hawke jumped on that before Anders could begin a rant straight out of his manifesto. “I’d suggest you look over your history keeping in mind that history and the Chant were written by the victors. The Tevinter Imperium’s use of magic was reckless and dangerous. That much, I don’t argue. But when the Chant was written, that’s what the writers had in mind. Not protecting man but preventing another Imperium. Magic is a tool, like a blade or an arrow. If I took my knife and killed someone with it, would you lock up anyone who carried a blade in response?”

“A blade can be taken from its owner,” Fenris offered. “Magic cannot. The only way to disarm a mage is to kill them.”

“All right. I’ll give you that. You can’t cut mages off from using magic without cutting them off from the Fade.” Hawke glanced at Anders, worried that he was about to flash into Justice and attack Fenris, particularly with the mention of the fate that befell Anders’ friend, Karl. Fortunately, nothing happened. Apparently, both Anders and Justice were more interested in the conversation than in countering that one themselves. “But the qunari won’t let themselves be separated from their swords either. Should we insist that they all be locked away for our own protection?”

It wasn’t until after he said it that he realized that that argument might not win him any favors. After all, there were those insisting that the qunari being forcibly expelled from Kirkwall, and thought that locking them up was a step in the right direction. Still, it was a valid point. 

“It might help,” he heard Aveline murmur. She said it just soft enough that only Hawke heard her, her way of ensuring that she didn’t undermine his argument. He still flashed a quick look expressing his feeling of ‘not helping!’ to her before he returned his attention to the group. 

They hadn’t noticed his lapse in attention. “The qunari are predictable. They follow their qun. Mages have no such set of beliefs,” Fenris stated, the anger in his voice starting to creep in. The lyrium tattoos stood out as his disdain for all things magical was discussed.

Hawke sighed. Things were just devolving more and more it seemed. There wasn’t a nice and easy solution to this whole affair in the first place, but one certainly wasn’t about to be solved over a round of drinks at the Hanged Man. That was why it was such a dividing issue. 

And because the whole discussion hinged on differing points of view, Anders’s reaction to Fenris’s statement was going to keep things going. “Most mages believe in the Chant of Light. They just believe that the Chantry has misinterpreted it. Don’t let a handful of mages who abuse their abilities make you believe we’re all like that.”

Fenris scoffed. “Yes, you’re certainly one to talk, taking a spirit into yourself and perverting it into a demon. Tell me again, what does the Chant say of abominations?” 

Hawke moaned to himself and ordered another round of drinks. Hopefully, if he kept them coming, everyone would pass out and forget the entire conversation in the morning. Though he didn’t consider it likely.

As Anders and Fenris glared at each other from across the table, Isabela scoffed. “Will the two of you just take a room here already and solve your problems the old fashioned way?” Hawke choked on his drink at the suggestion, while both mage and warrior broke their gaze from each other and dispersed.

Realizing what she’d done, Hawke flashed the pirate a look of thanks and made a mental note that he owed her several drinks on his tab for that. Fortunately, with them defused, the conversation seemed to die off. Make that a few pints for Isabela.

Aveline cleared her throat, drawing his attention. “Hawke, just a suggestion...” she said softly.

“Never bring up this matter again?”

“Preferably.”

“Understood.”

***

The night continued and finally it came time for last call. Isabella took it upon herself to see Merrill back to the alienage (poor girl had such a low tolerance, a single mug could lay her down flat without trouble) while Fenris, Aveline, and Anders were still able to move on their own power and make it back to their homes without concern for the local bandits (though the Dog Lords seemed to have been sent running with their tails between their legs), but Hawke found himself escorting Sebastian back to the brothers’ quarters near the Chantry.

Of course, Sebastian wasn’t falling over drunk either, but Hawke had seen the way that the prince of Starkhaven had been looking at him from the moment he’d announced that he wasn’t an out-and-out Andrastian. _Might as well get this over with..._ he figured. “Do you have a problem with me, Sebastian?” 

The Starkhaven prince looked to him, conflicting emotions visible on his face. “To be honest, Hawke, I am surprised. By the actions that you’ve taken, I was certain you believed in the Maker and Andraste.”

Hawke sighed. “It’s not that I don’t believe in them. I just don’t believe in all that we’re told. Like I said back at the Hanged Man, history is written by the victors. If we can’t question our faith, is it worth having? If your beliefs can’t hold up to scrutiny, what does that say about them?”

“I suppose questioning your faith can make it stronger. Then you do believe in the Maker?” Hawke wasn’t sure if he sounded hopeful or just genuinely curious about the matter. Perhaps it didn’t matter.

Either way, it wasn’t an easy question. “To be honest, Sebastian, even before the Blight, I questioned. Came with the territory of being an apostate in a world where magic is feared and reviled. Why would he cast this burden upon unsuspecting children and force them into a life bound by the Circle? Where they’re watched by the templars at all hours of the day because of what they might do or become? Mere mortals don’t get locked up for what they might do, and they’re just as capable of mass murder as mages. Since then... I’ve given up entirely. What kind of creator makes a world and abandons it like this? What kind of creator... forces me to watch my sister die like that?” Unbidden, the memory of the ogre racing up, grabbing Bethany, and so brutally smashing her against the ground replayed in Hawke’s mind. He did everything he could to shove it back down and held up a hand, hoping not to get into the theological argument that Sebastian would counter with. “I don’t care if the Chant says that man abandoned him first. Bethany was as devout as any Chantry sister, as any Revered Mother. I was the one who questioned and spoke out about why anyone would gift someone with magic only to turn and want those gifted persecuted and locked away in the name of their own protection. Why was she the one who had to die?”

There was no answer to that, a fact that Sebastian knew quite well. “In all honesty, Hawke, I’ve thought the same as you. My parents, my brothers... Why was I spared and they all died? They were as devout as anyone, certainly more than I was when Lady Harriman hired the mercenaries to kill them. I’ve come to believe that it was the will of the Maker, that our paths led us to the point where we are now.”

Hawke shook his head. “And my path had to take away one of the brightest points in my life? My family was fractured after Bethany died. Almost the first thing that mother said to me after it was that I should have stopped her from getting in its way, blaming me for her death. You haven’t met Carver, but he blamed me for Bethany’s death up until not long before we went on the expedition. It took a month for him to even look at me, have a conversation with me that didn’t involve him outright telling me that it was my fault that she was dead, that it should have been me. Even if it was the Maker trying to make us get along better, why would he then take Carver away so suddenly, right when we were starting to make progress? For a month, I didn’t even know if he was still alive. That all this was the Maker’s plan for me, quite frankly, makes me wish that I could believe in him, just so that when I die and supposedly go to his side, I can turn him around, make him look at the world of man, the world he’s supposed to have created, and tell him that he needs to clean up the mess he’s made. Doesn’t he have a responsibility to his creations to be involved, to correct his mistakes and make things better, not leave his creation in turmoil and ruin just because he didn’t like the way it was turning out? People hold mankind responsible for the Maker abandoning our world, but I want to know who finds him accountable for what he does or doesn’t do for the world he created.” It had been a long time since he’d had an opportunity to let out his frustrations out like this, his anger at the slow whittling away of his family, the lack of answers that he had ever found in the Chantry, the state of supreme madness and confusion that he seemed to live in here in Kirkwall... Even briefly uncorking that anger and frustration felt like a relief.

Again, there was no easy answer to the question. Hawke wasn’t even looking for one. “I don’t know, Hawke. Maybe there aren’t any answers that we can find in our lifetimes. I just know that I have faith that the Maker will reveal his plans for us all in time.”

Mentally, Hawke understood what Sebastian was trying to do, to make a bridge, extend an olive branch, and let the matter go. His emotions, though, had been stirred up by the release he’d granted them. But, emotions aside, he knew that Sebastian wanted to make things right between them both. “And I don’t. I may never.”

“I understand, Hawke.” He sounded like he really did at that. Looking Hawke in the eye, he placed a friendly hand on Hawke’s shoulder. “Perhaps... perhaps you could tell me of your sister. It sounds as if, had I known her, I would have liked her. If you like, I could ask that the Grand Cleric add her name to the Wall of Remembrance.”

For a moment, Hawke didn’t answer. Then he nodded. “I’d like that. I could... feel like I could have some place to go to, to... still speak with her. And I think she would have liked you, too.” Of course, had Bethany showed any interest in Sebastian, Hawke would have immediately come to detest the Starkhaven prince, no doubt. Hawke understood what Sebastian was offering – his friendship, even if Hawke wouldn’t accept the Maker. Even if Hawke didn’t believe, he could still count on Sebastian’s loyalty and his friendship.

And really, for Hawke, that was enough.


End file.
